Monday, December 28, 2009

I had an apartment, a long time ago. It was going to be the first time I lived without a roommate. My apartment was freaking adorable. It had two front doors, for some reason.

The first person who wanted to move in was a really good friend/boss/twice-sex-buddy, who I will call Smith. Smith and I hung out together one of the first nights I lived in the new place. We went out, I'm SURE we got drunk as skunks, and somehow got locked out of my apartment. We had to break in. There was a piece of wood sticking out of the stoop of the apartment next door, advertising that the house was protected by some sort of security system. Smith took the wood out of the ground and proceeded to jam my window open with it. We crawled in. I can't remember what happened that "we" decided he wouldn't live with me, but it never happened, so I'm sure we came to some sort of agreement. I liked sleeping with him, though. We certainly had an affinity towards each other, and while "affinity" doesn't sound superhot, it made for sex that was. Who knows why.

After Smith, my wackadoodle blond friend wanted to move in with me. Would this have been fun? Yes. Would either of us have made it out of that situation alive? No. Again, I hate when people ask, then answer, their own questions, but it works here. No blond wackadoodle. End of discussion.

So, Smith, then BW. After that, I enjoyed an extremely short stint of living alone. I got cable. I bought a green sofa. Four days later, a friend of a friend, barely known to me at the time, had to move in. I forget how this happened, but I know that one day when I came home from work, all his crap was there. We had two front doors.

Living with him was way more fun than living alone would have been. I particularly remember one night: he was sleeping in the room next to mine, a mutual friend of ours, JC, was over, sleeping in my bed with me, and JC's dog was between us. It was perfectly still, and I was the only one in the house awake. I wasn't bored, and I just remember feeling perfectly safe, happy to be breathing under the same roof as these people. I miss that feeling. It lasted only for a second.

A booty call ruined it. Dude. To this day I wish I never answered that phone, and that I could have gotten a few more minutes of the peace-feeling. The booty call guy was a really good guy (and it actually turned out that I was the only one who thought we were booty-calling; he thought it was more relationshippy), but I could have done without it that particular night.